Lost
by Sweetsummersongs
Summary: The prophecy a hoax; Harry dead and Voldemort stronger than ever there is only one solution to their problem. But time is a fickle mistress and her gifts always come at a price. GOF Time-Travel AU
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**I**

When Harry Potter fell, the world fell with him.

It was a thing of legend, a moment so grand only the masters of old could ever truly capture its magnificence and the repercussions it would have. Because the whole world held its breath when Harry's heart stopped beating; when Bellatrix Lestrange _ripped it out of him_.

There had been no sounds then, life draining out of the surroundings like blood did from Harry's chest. The world was a blank canvas, painted in rivers of _red_.

And when he fell the grounds shook. They shook with rage and dread and fear while Harry crumpled to the ground like a marionette that had its strings cut. In the end he was one of the countless dead lying around Hogwarts' fallen remains. One of many stone-cold faces lying amidst half-collapsed heaps of brick, mortar and magic.

But he was by far the most important.

And when Voldemort's high-pitched laugh broke the spell of silence that surrounded us it felt as if he was leeching the world of all hope. Without Harry we were lost, broken and shattered. And the fucker knew it. He told us to _run_, to _scatter and __**live**__. Live to see the world restored to its rightful glory. Live and see the folly of your mistake. Run the like vermin you are, for death will be a gift when we are done with you._

We ran.

* * *

It was amidst the ruins of Hogsmeade village that Hermione Granger told them of her plan.

Neville answered first, watching her with a thoughtful gaze. "Why the year of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"To stop his reincarnation and seize control of the cup without Bellatrix' interference. I want to get Moody up and running before the year starts and have both Crouches dead before Junior can start his little plot. We also have to vanish _you-know-who_'s father's bones and-"

It was Ron who cut her off, scarred mouth turning down in a grimace as he held up both hands in a silent plea for her to stop talking. "What's the catch, Hermione? Because there sure as hell aren't any bloody timeturners for us to grab."

He spat the words out with such venom as if it hurt him to say them. Ron's blue eyes were narrowed and his brows furrowed in contemplation. It made the scars on his pale skin stand out, the marks winding up his face like silvery snakes. They stretched from the tip of his brow to mar the skin of his collarbones and shoulders. They curled down one corner of his lip in an almost permanent painful scowl.

Marks made with magic forged in too-dark shadows never healed well.

"Did you know that hunchbacked-curflees come in two kinds?" Luna piped up serenely, gazing at Hermione with a strangely lucid expression for a second before turning to face Ron, "they look exactly the same but one can only fly forward and the other only ever goes backwards. And when they meet they are so confused that they both die."

Ron's face softened, placing an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. He hid his face in her blonde locks and just kept it there. A moment of solace in a shabby tent amidst ruins. A minute of nothing but peace before he was once more part of a four-man resistance. Just _one moment _of not being Ronald Weasley.

Neville did the same, choosing to grasp Hermione's hand and giving it a soft squeeze. His hand was big and warm around hers, and she met his eyes for a few too short seconds. Brown met green and for a few moments the world froze with fragile tranquillity.

(moments like this kept them together, but it was a Sisyphean task. They were too broken to ever be whole. But together they were a better kind of broken, less shattered and more cracked.)

And then Hermione drew in a breath and the moment was gone, the harsh reality falling back down on their shoulders as it enveloped them in its icy embrace.

"The Black library had a tome that spoke of-"

* * *

In the end there was only magic and those willing to master it all.

And in between the running and the hiding and the fighting they mastered every minute detail of the ritual. They gathered supplies, raided abandoned mansions and left the country burning in their wake.

The scorched earth policy; _leave behind nothing but ashes_.

But it was Hogwarts they chose to put in motion their grand plan. For months they had prepared, had filled their moleskin pouches with all they might need. Had emptied libraries and robbed all Death Eaters they encountered of their wands. Neville's pouch held the sword of Gryffindor, Hermione's held tomes so old and dark and saturated in magic merely having them was a crime.

Their circle, painted in blood, was painted around where Harry had fallen so long ago. The memorial _you-know-who _once put up already blasted clear off. The abomination a mockery of Harry's legacy, a stain on his memory.

"I am the Master of Death," Hermione called, "master of the beyond, master of the past and present and all that has been. I hold all three, it is me they chose. And in blood and bone I command _all_."

The world held its breath once more as all sounds died out. A presence was building, heavy and smothering as it weighed down on them. There was power in the air, sizzling and burning as flames burst out of the Elder wand gripped tightly in Hermione's hand.

They formed shapes, faces of people known and unknown burning around them. Flashing back and forth as they took on more shapes. Dumbledore, Snape, the Carrows, the gaunt faces of malnourished children they had seen scurrying off in the shadows of what once was Diagon Alley. Hermione's parents were followed by a pair of complete strangers as the ghastly shapes encircled them all, hovering over the line painted in their blood.

(for a second Ron swore he saw Harry there, staring at them with sad, _sad _eyes)

The flames died out, only to rise up with twice the vigour as a single silhouette of fire stepped forth.

"Your tribute," it rasped, formless face directed only at Hermione.

"All that once laid your feet, all deaths here have already been yours to take. All deaths we will cause will also be yours."

The form was silent for a moment before it moved its head in a mockery of a nod, the movement almost too slow to be discernible.

They spoke the date they wanted to return to in unison, their words mixing in the air and sounding like one. They each raised their wands then, the horrific spell slipping past their lips as if they were breathing a promise in a lover's ear. More flames sped out from their wands then, adding to the already meters-high wall of flame that lit up the sky like a beacon. Dragons and phoenixes and other beasts of deadly fire rose and fell with an imaginary tide; shooting up at the sky and prowling around the circle as they each awaited the moment of the kill.

"Your tribute has been accepted, Master of Death, master of the way. The price, however, is yours to pay."

The figure disappeared back into the flames and for a second the sky was on fire as torrents of flames shot up to the heavens above.

And when they receded, dying out and leaving nothing but untouched grass, the world trembled once more. Because when the flames flickered out all who stood in that circle were dead.

* * *

The Great Hall shook and quavered once more when four figures appeared with nary a sound. Their feet touched the stone floors silently, their laboured breaths the only noise that breached the silence. They remained frozen in their spots, muscles not moving an inch and their wands clasped tightly in their hands.

But all four sets of eyes were anything but still as they roamed the vast expanse of space around them. Taking in every nook and cranny, lingering on the walls before straying to the ceiling and then back again to the –currently- empty space behind the head table where once four banners hung.

But the castle was whole, the tables still standing and the floor untouched by rubble or blood. Here there was not the heavy, oppressive mantle of ghosts of the past that hung back at the edge of their consciousness. Here there was only the tangy feeling of breached wards, the familiar embrace of magic that –just moments ago- had been nothing but a frail sense of wrongness, a void desperate to suck in any that lingered too long.

The doors to the Hall flew open and the torches lining the walls flared to life in a single _swoosh_. Their flames bathing the hall in dim orange and red. But from the threshold strode Albus Dumbledore, night robe billowing around him as if he were facing a storm. His face was set in a frown and his footsteps echoed loudly throughout the Great Hall, shattering the fragile peace.

It was Ron who stepped forward, wand drawn and scarred face contorted in a disdainful mask. His mouth was naught but a thin line and his nostrils flared as he adjusted his grip on his wand. Neville stood behind him, hands twitching towards the pouch on his hip; itching to grasp the familiar handle of Gryffindor's sword.

Dumbledore stopped his approach a few feet from where Ron stood and opened his mouth only to close it after a mere seconds. His face was too guarded to read but the flicker of familiarity that rushed through his eyes was noticeable enough for all four to see.

"Who are you," the elder wizard asked after more moments of tense silence.

"I am Luna Lovegood," Luna piped up serenely as she smiled brightly at Dumbledore and performed a mockery of a curtsy. "And with me I have Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley."

"That," Dumbledore said immediately after Luna finished talking, "is very unlikely. For it was _here_, in this very school, that miss Granger and mister Weasley both died. I also have the misfortune to know of miss Lovegood's and mister Longbottom's own deaths. So I would ask you again, _who are you_?"

His words echoed throughout the Hall, the wizard putting such force behind them that Hermione swore she could _feel _the room ripple with power. It was an impressive display, that for sure, but they had not been impressionable schoolchildren for a _long _time.

Her wand danced through the air, guided by her hand as she _swished and flicked _before ending the display with a single, angry slash through the air.

The wards fell, the walls crumbling down around them and the ceiling shattering like glass. Flashes of light burst around them as shades of people ran and fell and did not get up again. Laughter could be heard, screams and shouts and blood-curdling _roars _that grasped hearts with ice-cold hands and brought nightmares for _years_.

The illusion broke, the images fading back into the ground as the screams died out. The Hall was untouched again, the walls whole and the floor clean. Stars shone bright above them in a ceiling that still held fast, the magic not broken anymore.

"That, Headmaster Dumbledore, is the future of this school. That is what we are here for, to stop it all. And that is why you will let us do our job."

Albus Dumbledore laughed and gave a nonchalant wave with his hand as if he were swatting away a fly rather. He smiled then, for the first time since he entered the Hall, and his blue eyes twinkled merrily even in the dim light.

"Time travel, you claim? I must admit, I had expected many things when I felt the wards being breached but this was not it. Now, tell me your real story."

Luna spoke up again, but this time her face was ashes and her smile too sharp at the edges of her mouth. The shadows in her eyes seemed to grow, shifting their colour from blue to grey as she regarded Dumbledore impassively.

"Once upon a time there was a boy, a brilliant, amazing boy. He was loyal and brave and kind and even ambitious. And when he met another, older, boy, as brilliant and amazing as him they became fast friends. And that boy was ambitious as well, and kind and brave and loyal. They left to travel the world and together they lived, loved and laughed. But the older boy had something the younger lacked; he didn't mind getting his hands dirty."

Luna stopped talking then, gazing up at the ceiling with thoughtful eyes.

"The acoustics here are much better when the walls still stand. They help keep out most of the nargles, you see."

Hermione chuckled from where she stood, arms crossed over her and nodding for Luna to continue.

"So the younger grew afraid, he dared not put in motion the plans he and his friend had drawn up in blind, foolish ambition and he backed down. They argued and then they fought. And their fight was the kind of clash only the most brilliant of minds could produce. It destroyed everything in its path. And the younger boy shot spell after spell never once noticed how-"

"Stop," Albus whispered angrily as his grip on his wand turned bruising, had the wood been flesh, "you have _no idea _what you are talking about."

"We have plenty more dirty laundry to air," Hermione chimed in happily, twirling her wand around again with a manic glint in her eyes. "I had a chat with Gellert once, you see. Charming man, very knowledgeable. Told me of your adventures in Russia, he did. But that's not why we are here, you want proof of our allegiance? Of our identities? Tell me, did Trelawney ever divine a prophecy?"

The minute nod could easily be missed, but all four caught it.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches …"_

Albus gestured for her to stop with another wave of his empty hand, looking like the old man he was as every wrinkle stood out against the pale of his skin. His eyes had lost their twinkle and instead grew dim; _weary_. It was as if a curtain had dropped and the actor threw off his costume, revealing the man behind the mask.

"Yeah, pretty bloody awful, isn't it?" Ron spat disdainfully, his battle-ready stance never wavering and his eyes not leaving Albus' wand. "Hermione's probably going to tell me the reason as to why I'm suddenly dead –err, not me, sorry. As to why _the younger me _is dead, but let me tell you that a year from now we're going to be _fighting _for this prophecy. But we're on the ruddy same side here, okay? We are pretty much the last of the Order of the Phoenix. Or were. Or will be. I don't bloody know, okay? Snakeface bad, anything not snakeface good."

"The taboo is gone, Ron," Neville whispered slowly as he glanced at Ron's heavily breathing frame, "he hasn't put in place yet."

"The Order doesn't recruit teenagers," Albus said slowly as footsteps echoed from the hallway leading up to the Great Hall. "And a future where it does –I cannot imagine."

Ron's eyes snapped from Albus' wand to the figures standing in the doorway, flickering over their forms before deeming them the lesser threat as he focused once more on the elderly wizard standing in front of him.

"That future is gone." Hermione spat as she regarded the newcomers with haughty indifference, "we will make sure of that. But _please_, lower your wands. _All of you_. Ours is a story best told without Ron and Neville ready to blast you all to pieces."

"He could try," it was Severus Snape that stepped from the shadows, satin drawl as unmistakeable as ever. "I doubt he would succeed."

But this was not _their _Severus Snape, he couldn't be. His hair was clean and shiny and bound back in a low –and short- ponytail. He wore _deep blue _robes that stubbornly refused to billow behind him and his face held a healthy sheen. The bags around his eyes were gone, the lines of premature aging and worry gone. He looked healthy; _happy_.

"Hermione," Ron growled again as he kept glancing at Snape and then back at Dumbledore again, "what happened to Snape?"

"I- I-" Hermione swallowed, "I _don't know_."

"Well, if it's any consolation; I think you look _really good _this way, professor Snape," Luna said seriously, nodding to herself.

"Albus," Severus nodded to his colleague and boss though his eyes never left the four teenagers standing in front of him, "care to explain why I am currently seeing ghosts. Because last I checked Molly and Arthur were still mourning the loss of their youngest son, not celebrating his miraculous return."

* * *

They ended up leaving the Great Hall in a most uncommon sort of parade, a quartet of ragged teens striding amidst all four heads of the houses _and _the headmaster of Hogwarts. But the halls were empty, devoid of students to gawk and point. School was not even in session yet, wouldn't be for another three days.

Not that Neville consciously noticed that. Not with his mind running in so many different directions.

He wasn't the clever one, that wasn't his role. It was Hermione who filled that part, who lost herself in books and forgot to eat unless he was there to remind her. Hermione who could spin her wand and bring the world to its knees; who could read a book a dozen times and still consider it not enough.

He was the muscle, the loyal guard dog. The lumbering knight, the watchful guardian. It was Ron though, who always fought at the front line. Casting spell after spell, curse after curse. His heart a never-ending well of courage and fearlessness that he drew upon day after day, his steps never wavering as he fought his way through throngs of enemies.

So he was always one step behind. He had always been and he didn't mind. He covered their weak spots, saw what their eyes failed to see. Deflected spells they didn't notice, cut down those they failed to kill. He had hands that could nurture the most delicate of life from seed to flower, he had hands that would _grab _and _turn_ until he heard a _snap_.

Hermione pointed and Ron went. And Neville would always follow. Because Ron was blinded by anger and fear and hope and was a Gryffindor _all the way_. And Hermione blinded herself with her constant worrying, sweet- _sweet _Hermione who needed him like Luna needed Ron.

So he followed, walked past portraits he had seen torn up and burning. Past statues and chainmail that once fought by his side. Past the corner where Charlie had fallen and not gotten up again, past the wall where the Death Eaters had nailed Seamus to. And his steps never wavered. His breath never hitched.

But when Hermione grabbed his hand with an almost feverish need he knew she was as afraid as he was. He could almost feel the fast hummingbird-heartbeat of her heart through the touch of her palm to his.

Because besides Minerva McGonagall and professor Sprout there were two people walking besides them that _did not belong_.

Snape, with his nice hair and blue robes and calm face. With what Neville knew to be the _Ravenclaw emblem _stitched over his chest. With a bloody ring on his finger and a face that did not speak of the horrors the man _should have seen!_

And Sirius Black, someone Neville only knew of that one, disastrous adventure in the Ministry of Magic. The man Harry had spoken of so fondly, the Gryffindor from one of the blackest families of England.

Sirius Black, who walked with his nose up in the air and his face frozen in a nasty smirk Neville had often seen Draco don. He wore black, lined with green and silver and embroidered snakes and it was only Hermione's tight grip on his hand that kept him from pushing the man against the wall and demanding _what the bloody hell _had happened.

Because Neville might not be the cleverest or the one who always charged in headfirst. He was not even Luna, who surprised them with her wit and utter ruthlessness at every turn.

But even he knew that whatever had happened, whatever they had _done_; it had gone spectacularly wrong.

* * *

**I own nothing but the idea, and even that has been done before by minds infinitely more brilliant than mine.**

**Also, I took some liberties with Grindelwald's age.**

**Also, all (inevitable) mistakes are my own. I have no beta to speak of and am not the person to go over my own work with a fine-toothed comb. English is not my native language, it is technically not even my second. So please don't judge my mistakes too harshly.**

**I would be terribly happy if you took the time to leave a review. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**II  
**

Severus Snape did not like looking at the boy with the shockingly red mop of hair. He had the kind of eyes you avoided meeting in a gaze if you can. The kind of eyes that drew you in their unmeasurable depths and dragged you under. And Severus did not like seeing those eyes staring back at him from the face of his friends' son.

The son whose body he himself had seen lying in the hallway, or what had been left of it.

But this was unmistakeably Ronald Weasley, the face the same underneath the scars and dirt. The nose, lopsided and crooked as if it had been broken one time too many, was the same. The mouth, the ears, the freckles-

This was Ronald Billius Weasley, no imposter could ever look so alike. So alive. So real.

(no ghost could look so sad, so downtrodden. The dead should not look like survivors of some sort of guerrilla war, not like this.)

* * *

"So you are from the future," Minerva McGonagall asked flatly from her perch on the comfortable armchair she configured for herself. Her wand was held lazily in her lap, knuckles white from the tight grip she held it with.

"And most likely a parallel dimension, an alternate universe if you wish." Hermione explained. "That much is obvious from-" she gestured weakly at Sirius Black and Severus Snape before shrugging. "They weren't like this in our time- or universe."

"And why should we believe you?" Sirius barked a laugh as his eyes met the girl's with disdain, "your story has a lot of holes. It is a bit too fortunate, isn't it? Time-travel, alternate dimensions. What's next, you are secretly also Merlin's heirs and have found Ravenclaw's diadem?"

"We did find the diadem," Luna said dreamily, "it really was very pretty. I really wish I could have worn it."

"You were a Gryffindor where we came from." Neville began slowly as he dragged his gaze from the window and met Sirius' eyes. "And Harry's godfather. You were in Azkaban but broke out, your animagus form is that of a dog. You were disowned from your family and lived with James Potter for a while. You were mad, brilliant but mad. Your death started the war."

"And you," Neville turned his thoughtful gaze to Snape, "you were a Slytherin. A genius with potions, your greatest love was Lily Evans. You had the most dangerous job within-"

Neville paused, looking at Dumbledore. "Can all of them be trusted?"

At Albus' nod he continued, "within the Order. You risked your life daily. Voldemort murdered you personally, made you an example of why he should never be crossed. You taught us a lot. But you were a miserable, angry git. Everything you did might have been for the _greater good_ but you bullied children, made lives miserable and hurt a lot of people."

"A true bat of the dungeons," Luna piped up eagerly, beaming at Severus.

"A bloody arsehole, most likely." Came Ron's grumbled reply.

McGonagall shot them a confused look. "Sirius Black friends with James Potter? I think you are mistaking him for Severus, Sirius and James never got along. James was, still is actually, a bit too rambunctious for Sirius' taste. It was Severus who went and lived with him during the summers between fifth and seventh years. He was even the best man at James' and Lily's wedding."

Ron chocked out a laugh at that, a hoarse sound that felt out of place coming from the boy Minerva remembered Ron being. The boy this teenager of the cusp of manhood claimed to be.

He stilled after a few seconds, laughs dying out as morphed into a more solemn expression once again. "Is Harry Potter your chosen one? The boy you think your prophecy spoke of? And are his parents alive?"

"Yes to all of that," Albus answered grimly, "he survived the killing curse Voldemort aimed at him. His parents were away that night, the Order member meant to protect him that night died."

"The Order member was Peter Pettigrew, wasn't it?" Hermione spoke up grimly, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up in disgust. "He was the secret keeper, it made sense for him to be the one to protect Harry _and _the house; that way no one else had to be let in on the secret. It also provided Voldemort with a perfect opportunity, for there would be no one to interrupt. No variables; go in and go out. Kill the baby, get rid of the loose end and be gone again."

Severus almost seemed to choke on thin air, glancing at the girl in surprise.

The witch let out a loose, airy laugh and threw her head back for a moment; wild mane of curls flying in every direction. "It seems some things never change."

"Are you insinuating that-" Albus started hesitantly though his eyes were cold and unforgiving.

"You know damn well that Pettigrew was a Death Eater," Ron spat, one corner of his mouth curled up in distaste as he waved his wand around angrily.

"But James and Lily are alive?" Hermione mused, eyes darting to Neville and then back to Albus. "What about Frank and Alice Longbottom?"

"They are alive, yes. Why do you ask? Is there any reason for them to be dead?"

The room fell silent for a while, the four time-travellers sending each other heavy looks before Neville spoke up; "Is there anywhere the four of us can stay for a while? We would all like a warm bed and an opportunity to talk this through. This …"

"This is not _our _past, not our world. You are not our headmaster, not our teachers." Hermione snorted, empty hand reaching up to cover her face as her eyes danced with grim mirth, "but don't worry, we won't hurt anyone here, or destroy anything. You can lock us in if you want to, but remember; we are on _your _side."

* * *

Luna recognized the room they had been given as one of the many rooms they had blasted open, looking for any Death Eaters hiding within. This one had been empty and she liked that, she liked the fact that in here there were no memories to fly around her head with lead wings. That this room could be filled with happy thoughts and be used to make new memories.

So she smiled, hands smoothing out the burgundy comforter laid on the single bed in one of the two bedrooms. She knew Hermione would stay with Neville and that Ron would sleep in here, with her. So she waved her wand and mumbled the spell that slid both beds together with an ever bigger smile.

Ron kept the storfdubblers away.

The painting on the wall was empty, chased away by Hermione's angry spell minutes before. The rooms had been bathed in blue light before the frames surrounding all of the paintings had grown red-hot and their occupants had ran away; not to return.

But before she could fall back down on the bed she knew there was talking to be done. There were things that needed to be discussed, events that needed to be dissected. They needed plans, long and short term. They needed a way out, ways in, backup plans and information and _so much more_.

(Dumbledore was a fool if he thought he could lock them in, too many wrackspurts infesting his brains and dulling his senses. No ward in Hogwarts could keep them in, but he didn't need to know that.)

So Luna abandoned the bed and its pretty satin sheets; vines of gold climbing up from the corners and entwining gracefully on the burgundy surface. It was almost as if the sheets were beckoning her to burrow underneath them, to smother her with warmth and comfort and pretty golden vines that would draw her into sweet, _sweet _dreams.

They really were quite pretty, she hadn't noticed that before.

(a pity they _burnburnburned _when the castle fell.)

* * *

"Albus, you can't possibly believe that-"

"It's simply preposterous, Albus, Minerva is right and you need to-"

"A dog? I was a _dog_? And _Potter_? And they handed his brat to me? Merlin's balls-"

_"Enough!" _Albus' voice echoed through his office, startling Fawkes awake and making the portraits on his wall pipe up with annoyance. Some even stalked out of their frames with angry huffs, mumbling insults as they went.

"Severus," the elderly wizard began with a wave of his hand as he beckoned the Ravenclaw head of house to speak.

"The boy can't possibly be anyone but Ronald Weasley, save for the scars they are too alike. He is obviously Molly and Arthur's dead son. I couldn't smell polyjuice on them or-"

"Why, I thought Lupin was our resident werewolf, Severus, I didn't know you shared his exceptional sense of smell," Sirius interjected with a sharp grin that curled up at the edges, smiling a bit too wide.

Minerva huffed angrily, pursing her lips as she shot Sirius an angry glare. "_Sirius_, that is quite enough!"

Black held up his hands in mock innocence, eyes narrowed in glee before he smoothed that expression over and his donned its usual mask of haughty disdain.

"I _am _the potions master here, Black, as you'd do well to remember next time you pick up a goblet to drink. I also didn't see them ingest anything that could have been polyjuice and any glamours should have dispersed the moment they entered the office. I can't speak for the Granger or Lovegood girl but I think Ronald Weasley is who he claims to be. The other boy shares Frank and Alice's features but I wasn't as close to them so I couldn't say if his story checks out or not."

With a sigh Severus leant back in his own, pinching the bridge of his nose with tired fingers. He closed his eyes for a second, the beginnings of a headache brewing at the back of his mind. He twisted the gold wedding band on his finger 'round and 'round, eyes blinking tiredly as he followed the bit of precious metal.

"Severus, are you with us still?" Albus queried, effectively drawing Severus from his descent into sleep.

"Ah; I am, my apologies."

"Nevertheless, we have to confirm that the others are who they are before we inform their families. I think the Weasleys and the Longbottoms would very much wish to be informed of their children's- let's say _return_, before they are the last to find out. Should we breach the news of Xenophilius' and his wife's passing to the Lovegood girl? Her reaction to such news could give her away, or confirm her story as it is." Albus drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk as the cogs in his head turned and turned. Should the children's story prove to be true it could be a great boon for the Order, they could possess information the like Albus could never have dreamt of.

But there were things he'd rather they not know. Things such as-

He waved the thought away, he'd best not linger on such things now. Not when he had more pressing matters.

"Veritaserum," Sirius said matter-of-factly, glancing around the room with thinly veiled disbelief and raised eyebrows. "Come on, am I the only one to have thought of that? If they are so keen on proving their story they won't refuse a chance to do so, we might even weasel out some more secrets while we're at it."

"They are _children_, Sirius Black! Are you suggesting-" Pomona Sprout spat furiously, lips pressed in a thin line as she rose from her seat slowly; her form mirroring that of an angry bear roused from her sleep.

"If what they told us is true they haven't been children for a long time, Pomona," Sirius stated flatly, eyes never once leaving that of his colleague. "And if that is the case I doubt they'd want to be mollycoddled by well-meaning adults, no matter how much you might want to. They aren't your little badgers, that boy might end up not even being _your _little Longbottom. You don't see Severus rushing towards the Granger girl now, do you? For all we know the Weasley boy was a Slytherin back from where he came from and is planning to poison us all in our sleep. Or, Merlin forbid, the Lovegood girl actually has a brain."

Sirius' voice trailed off and the room fell into another, uncomfortable, silence as Sirius and Pomona glared at each other. The others were pointedly looking away, all of them lost in their own thoughts.

But it was Albus who once again broke the silence, coughing shortly before he started talking. "Veritaserum should stay an option, we might also want to look into less illegal options. We could always take them to Gringotts to have them tested-"

Pomona glanced away from her and Sirius' little staring contest to frown at Albus. "I doubt that they'd trust us, or the goblins, with their blood. We would have a better chance getting them to sign with a blood quill provided they'd get to burn the parchment themselves afterwards. Perhaps they could even share a memory, you have experience spotting fabricated memories don't you, Albus?"

At Albus' nod she continued, "good. I still don't agree with the Veritaserum but there are other options. I don't give a damn if you say they couldn't possibly be children anymore, because they still are. They can't be anything but victims in this, just look at the rags they were dressed in! Or poor Ronald's face, goodness gracious, does that scream _Death Eater _to you?"

"Let me tell you that good 'ole Greyback has a pretty disfigured face as well, and would you say he is a victim?" Sirius snorted loudly, "and last I saw Nott, he had lost a good part of his face back in the seventies. Just because the kid got hurt doesn't mean he's a victim, I hadn't thought you to be so naive, Pomona."

"Why you-"

Severus sighed as Minerva interjected herself gracelessly in the discussion, all three growing increasingly agitated by second. He could feel the headache coming back up as if it were a thunderstorm, dark clouds hovering ominously inside his head just waiting to release their hellish fury.

* * *

Morning came with a gentle breeze and a red-stained sky. Puffy white clouds floated across the sky as the castle basked in the early-morning rays of sunshine.

But within the castle the atmosphere was tense as the quartet was led to the Great Hall by a stoic Severus Snape. He was walking briskly, arms winging along beside his sides and face drawn in an expression that was neither curious nor bored. He hid his emotions well, the flare of his nostrils and the occasional twitch of his eyebrows the only indicator that he was actually feeling any emotions at all.

It was almost comical how much the two men, for the Severus Snape they'd known was a _completely _different person, could be so different yet so alike. That much was obvious from just looking at him, Hermione mused. From the way he wore his hair to how he walked and dressed. This was not their Snape, super-spy extraordinaire who had devoted his life to keeping Harry alive. Who had spoken up against Dumbledore and endured Voldemort's presence for their sake.

And she could only hope that this version was as brave, as foolishly selfless and brilliant and _good_.

He had been their rock for months. Had whisked them from place to place, taught them charms and curses and how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper to death. It was him who coordinated the plan to rescue Luna, who had stepped aside so that Harry could get his revenge for Ginny's broken body.

She shared a glance with Ron, noticed the way his eyes flicked over to Snape and then back to meeting hers.

She just raised her eyebrows, moving one shoulder to give a lazy shrug before smoothing her face back to a mask of perfect blandness.

But Hermione was not stupid enough to disregard what Ron was subtly pointing out to her. He was showing her his weaknesses, eyes caught on the ring on his finger. The ease with which he walked, how his face sometimes smoothed over in thought and his muscles would relax involuntarily.

There was a spouse to threaten, emotions to exploit. He knew his surroundings, thought himself safe amidst them. He knew to guard his back against them but he was tired and his defence had holes in it.

But all those thoughts vanished from her mind when they entered the hall. Instead she straightened her back and forced her occlumency shields up. She tired, weary to the very marrow of her bones. Sleep had eluded her for hours and she hadn't dared to down a pinch of dreamless sleep.

Her hands were twitching as a result of it, her skin itching and her eyes almost feverishly taking in everything there was to see. The bags beneath her eyes were more pronounced than ever and she knew she looked like a hag.

The smile that danced upon her lips was utterly polite as she nodded at the circle of people seated around a round table. It was a girl's smile, the sweet taste of roses followed by the tangy rush of poison. The smile of a dragoness before it burned you alive.

The people that sat around the table were familiar, most of them she knew. Most of them were dead.

She had felt as if she were a spectator to Arthur's death, told by Harry in such a distant, empty voice that it sounded as he were recounting from a textbook. Moody she had watched fight to his death, taking with him a good chunk of the Gryffindor tower as he went. Frank and Alice had eventually succumbed to death when Death Eaters had burned St. Mungo's to the ground.

(Neville didn't even cry, but when they caught Mulciber he was harsher than before.)

James and Lily Potter where the only people seated that she had never seen before, or at least, never seen in the flesh. She had sat with Harry when he gazed at their pictures with mournful eyes, had whispered how proud they would have been of him had they been able tell him so.

But she just kept smiling as her eyes sought out Albus' own but it was Molly Weasley who interrupted her before she could start talking.

"R-_Ron?_"

* * *

**I can only hope that this chapter meets your expectations. I also offer my most humble thanks to the two darling people who took the time to review, I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!**

**Just a note on the side, some things they speak of have not yet been/will not ever be explained. Information is given bit by bit until (I hope) you have a decent picture of the _past _Alternate Timeline and the _present _Alternate Timeline. (aka, the one where canon happened up til a point and the one where they are now). Let it be said that I have had to make a factlist of _both _Universes just to keep the two seperate in my head and to discern them from canon. **


End file.
